


The Nights Are Dark

by DottyDot



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Post S8, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27053659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DottyDot/pseuds/DottyDot
Summary: The queen rides through the gates with the morning light, but it is night before he sees Sansa.Night, it is always night when she comes to him.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 11
Kudos: 60
Collections: Jonsa Autumn Drabbles 2020





	1. The Nights Are Dark

The queen rides through the gates with the morning light, but it is night before he sees Sansa.

Night, it is always night when she comes to him.

Her black dresses are gone, her dark furs abandoned, and Jon burns in her presence, as if she is a living flame.

Red, and lovely, and red.

"New dress?" Uncertain if she remembers.

"Do you like it?" With a smile telling him she does.

"I like the color" his cheeks doing their best to replicate it beneath his beard.

"And I thought you preferred me in blue." Her eyes laugh at him, knowing, and he laughs, admitting. He is thankful for the nights, the dark nights, when the fire burns low, and lower, until there is only Sansa, only her dress as it falls to the floor, only her hair as it falls down her back, only her laughter as she falls into bed.

He is never alone on those night.

"You could come home," she whispers, fingers marching across his chest. She knows the answer before it is spoken. "For a visit." She adds before the objection. "I understand, I didn't mean—you could come to us for supplies instead of waiting for me to send or bring them. Just to step foot in Winterfell might make you happy."

"It wouldn't feel right would it? A former king turned—" and the rest is too heavy to share.

Unbound her hair isn't as straight as he'd pictured it, but it is as silky, folding, falling, flowing over his fingers, a fountain of fire washing over a burned hand, that even after everything, can't resist the flame.

A sigh, and she pushes herself away, as if to rise. "Is it worse for you, having me visit? Would it be better—" but he doesn't permit her to withdraw. They've had too much of that. He pulls her back to him, onto him, over him. Looks up into eyes, and for all the darkness around them, it is daylight in those eyes, the warmest day of summer. "You make me happy," a confession that shouldn't be difficult, after all these years, but words have never come easy between them. Yet, he pulls them out, offers them up, the least –most— he can give.

A kiss, just above his beard, another on the scar below his eye. She tilts his head and her lips linger on his forehead, and he burns, knowing she knows.

The nights are dark, but Sansa draws him into the light. 


	2. Traditions Worth Breaking

She comes through the gate a year later, a year older, immeasurably beautiful. But when she comes to him at night, she sits by the fire; she wants to talk. 

"I would like to meet with Tormund.“

"I knew you’d tire of me eventually,” with a smile. 

She rolls her eyes. "Not what I need to speak with him about.”

He suspected the day would come when Sansa would circumnavigate the edicts from the South. A united North would have no need for the Watch, not that there is much of a need now.

There’s still a draft although they sit by the fire, and Jon drapes his black cloak over her shoulders. The wind weathered garment clashed with the fine material of the dress beneath, but Sansa rubs her chin against it, smiles, “It smells like you.”

“Are you intending to change the world?” He asks, refusing to be distracted.

“No. I only intend to push a stone out of the way.” She walks towards him, never away.

“This stone might begin an avalanche.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Her dress is a shade of purple that speaks of royalty, a material he’s never touched before, and like her skin, it’s soft, and like her skin, something he was never meant to know. 

“Sansa—” his voice breaks as it hasn’t for years, because no one has ever— “are you doing this for me?" 

"I only accepted your punishment because I had to. Now I’m moving the pieces. I want better options.”

He feels—what does he feel? The stitches of his cloak as he pulls it from her shoulders, the plushness of her gown as if slides down her body, her breath upon his ear, his heart beating faster at her words—

_“I want to give you a choice.”_

He’s muttering something into her skin, giving her his secret pains in unintelligible sounds, in warm kisses on her neck, in tears that slide along her collarbone. And then, the words come, “I’ve never really had one before.”

She holds him, thinking of a boy that had no place, a king who had to leave his home to save it, an oathbreaker sentenced to where he had been betrayed and murdered, the man she sees only a few days a year and longs for every night, “It’s time to break with tradition.”

**Author's Note:**

> For any of you waiting for the last chapter of "All That Is After," I have most of it written. You will get it...eventually! Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
